


Look away

by lehnsherry



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bath Sex, Casual Sex, Comfort Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Gentleness, Geralt/Jaskier endgame, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, jaskier and chireadan take care of each other while they pine for geralt and yen respectively
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehnsherry/pseuds/lehnsherry
Summary: After a short eternity, Geralt finally stumbles out of the ruins - hurt but alive - and Jaskier's eyes fill with grateful tears.The witcher has a tired but smug-looking Yennefer on his arm, snuggled into his side and supporting him as much as he supports her. She's closer than Jaskier ever got, and they have the look of sudden, invincible,fatedlove about them. Jaskier's treacherous mind begins composing their ballad even as his bruised little heart shrivels up inside his chest and dies a quiet, bittersweet death.Next to him, Chireadan sees it too and makes a small noise, sounding just as devastated as Jaskier feels.
Relationships: Chireadan & Jaskier, Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion, Chireadan/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 217
Kudos: 653
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with the thought of these two taking solace in each other and becoming friends by accident. Hope you enjoy! <3

After a short eternity, Geralt finally stumbles out of the ruins - hurt but alive - and Jaskier's eyes fill with grateful tears. The witcher has a tired but smug-looking Yennefer on his arm, snuggled into his side and supporting him as much as he supports her. She's closer than Jaskier ever got, and they have the look of sudden, invincible, _fated_ love about them. Jaskier's treacherous mind begins composing their ballad even as his bruised little heart shrivels up inside his chest and dies a quiet, bittersweet death.

Next to him, Chireadan sees it too and makes a small noise, sounding just as devastated as Jaskier feels.

He has no idea why they stuck around to wait, except that he does; despite how painfully enamored they look with each other, it’s a relief to see them alive and out in the world once more.

Jaskier has no desire to stay with them any longer, however. Something tells him the elf beside him feels the same.

“Glad to see you’re both fine! Thank you kindly for fixing me!” he calls out to Geralt and the witch, and then he takes Chireadan by the arm.

“You, my friend, are getting treated to an ale. Right now”, he decrees, and is pleased at how easily Chireadan comes with him, letting Jaskier pull him along towards the closest tavern.

Neither of them looks back to see if they’re being followed, knowing they aren’t.

-

The drink flushes both their cheeks as Jaskier loses track of how many tankards he’s bought for them.

“I really can’t let you pay for all of this”, Chireadan says, the slightest slurring audible at the edges of his soft voice, but Jaskier laughs and shakes his head.

“You had a part to play in keeping me alive, I think that should earn you a bit of ale.”

“At least go and pay for a room now before we drink all of your coin”, the elf chides him, but smiles as Jaskier gets up on slightly unsteady feet.

“Yes, yes, mother”, he grumbles and resists the urge to poke his tongue out at his unreasonably reasonable companion. Chireadan rolls his eyes as Jaskier goes past him, pushing him toward the counter with a hand on the small of his back.

Jaskier pays for a room and for a hot bath. Chireadan was right, he has barely any coin left after it, not that he’ll tell that to the elf. No more beer tonight, sadly, or he won’t have any money for breakfast tomorrow.

Walking back, Jaskier absently touches his throat. He can breathe again, but his voice is still somewhat hoarse and he knows he won’t be able to sing for several days yet, at least without sounding like he follows a diet of sawdust and metal shavings. The thought fills him with dread; what is he really, if he can’t sing? A voiceless bard is the same as a wingless bird or a swordless witcher.

Scratch that, Geralt could probably make a living killing monsters with his bare hands, Jaskier thinks sadly. From there his thoughts slip straight to Geralt’s bare hands on the bare skin of a certain witch, and when he slumps back onto the bench beside Chireadan, his mood has turned completely sour.

Chireadan makes a sympathetic noise and offers him his half-full pint. Jaskier smiles sadly and takes it, drinking deeply.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chireadan asks carefully.

“Gods, yes”, Jaskier huffs. “It gets exhausting, holding it all inside when I really want to sing about it in every tavern and shout it from the rooftops!”

“And you haven’t?”

He looks at Chireadan, raising his eyebrows. “Does he look like someone who’d take it well if I did?”

The elf chuckles apologetically. “Not as such, no.”

“How about you, does she know?”

Chireadan leans his elbows on the table and shrinks into himself. He bites his lip and his expressive face draws into a look that might be more at home on a kicked puppy. His eyes glitter with what might be unshed tears, and Jaskier instantly feels bad for asking so bluntly.

“She knows, and she even… entertained the thought for a while.” His cheeks flush and he keeps his gaze glued to the table. “I showed her all my sources for herbs, introduced her to some people, and she… spent a few nights with me in the tent.”

Fuck. Jaskier can’t imagine how that would feel, getting to have the person you love for a tiny moment in time, only to watch them float their way up the social ladder of the town, straight into an orgy and then into the arms of someone she seems fated to be with.

“She had fun, and I had fun, and nothing was supposed to come of it”, Chireadan continues, discreetly wiping at his eyes. “That didn’t go too well on my part.”

For a rare moment, Jaskier has no idea what to say, so he leans into Chireadan, offering a comforting shoulder against his arm.

“That fucking sucks”, he says eloquently, startling a small laugh out of the elf.

“It does”, he agrees. “Though I don’t imagine your part is any easier. Do you ever get… resentful?” He looks at Jaskier with such awkward earnestness that Jaskier just has to lay a hand on his, to offer comfort.

“Yeah. Right now I don’t resent anything quite as much as that witch”, he growls, but tries to calm down as Chireadan makes a noise of protest.

“I know, I know, it’s not her fault she’s so…”

“Terrifying and perfect”, Chireadan supplies and Jaskier nods empathetically.

“That your type?”

“Lately, yes”, the elf smiles, a little bitter. “Seems to be yours too?”

“Are you kidding? Geralt’s a shithead if I ever met one! As far from perfect as one can get!” He jokes, enjoying the smile it brings to brighten Chireadan’s face, though it isn’t exactly true. Geralt is very good, and loyal, and he did all he could to save Jaskier’s life. The irony of it doesn’t escape him; if he hadn’t been so intent on getting the witcher’s attention there on the lakeside, he’d never have been attacked by the djinn, they’d never have gone to Rinde, and perhaps Geralt never would’ve met Yennefer of Vengerberg.

In a way, Jaskier only has himself to blame for this jealousy that’s now burning him from the inside.

He didn’t mean to become somber and melancholy, but now it’s happened and he doesn’t know how to go back to easy smiles. His mind conjures up a picture after another of what the witcher and his witch may be doing right now. Maybe they’ve found an actual bed, maybe they’re having sex again, or maybe they’re lying side by side, talking and touching, as gentle as he saw them be through the broken window.

“Is there anything I can do?” Chireadan asks gently, turning his hand in Jaskier’s hold and entwining their fingers. His hand is warm and soft, and Jaskier startles back to look at him.

He’s very close, and his eyes are wide and blue and pretty, and he looks very tender. A faint blush covers his cheeks, probably part from the ale and part from the indirect proposition he’s making.

He’s charming, and nice, and _here._ This close, Jaskier notices Chireadan smells good, faintly of some soap or perfume maybe, even through the blood he’s still covered in. Jaskier will gladly take a night of oblivion if he’s offered it, eager to lose himself in the gentle touch of a willing partner.

“You know”, Jaskier says, leaning even closer, until his lips lightly graze Chireadan’s smooth cheek. “I paid for a bath. I think we could both do with getting all this blood washed off.”

Chireadan turns his head, his lips catching against Jaskier’s, just a little, tantalizingly brief. “I’d like that”, he whispers, his other hand coming up to rest on Jaskier’s chest, where his undershirt is crusted with dried blood. It feels a little too gentle, a little too small, a little too unfamiliar, but Jaskier refuses to think about whose hands he’d rather have on him, and instead smiles, squeezing Chireadan’s hand in his own.

Though they’re not very drunk, they’ve both had enough to make them a little clumsy. Chireadan stumbles a little rising from the bench, and Jaskier catches him, laughing. Chireadan grasps his hand more firmly, trusting no-one will notice it in the dimness of the hall. Jaskier risks dropping a few sloppy kisses on the elf’s cheek and neck as they stumble their way up the rickety stairs, enjoying his soft voice as he tells Jaskier to wait just a little, already getting lost in his scent and warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 I'd love to hear what you think of this so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very nice bath, from Chireadan's point of view! He really likes praise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and commented, you're lovely. <3<3 I feel a bit nervous posting this chapter but I hope you'll like it, smut and all!

Even with his mouth occupied by frantically kissing Chireadan, Jaskier’s fingers make swift work of the buckles of his armour. He drops pieces on the floor, not caring about where they land. Chireadan should tell him to be more careful, but right now he doesn’t care either.

Jaskier’s ease of removing the armour doesn’t keep him from grumbling rather charmingly, though. “If I had my way, you’d never walk around wearing this much useless padding”, the bard huffs against his lips, and Chireadan smiles.

“We live in dangerous times, my friend”, he says, his own fingers plucking at the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt. Jaskier hums, pleased, as Chireadan finally gets it to open all the way and helps him shrug it off. The shirt falls somewhere onto the pieces of his bloody armour, and he goes straight to the buttons of Jaskier’s trousers.

“Eager, are we?” Jaskier laughs at him gently, even as he shimmies out of the fabric, more and more skin revealed until he’s completely bare.

“Yes”, Chireadan breathes out as he watches Jaskier, his pale skin and skinny waist, the alluring, exaggerated sway of his hips as he steps back up to him. “The bathwater’s getting cold.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the only reason”, Jaskier grins, pulling Chireadan close again. He lets himself be drawn in, and smiles in turn as Jaskier helps him divest of his shirt and then the rest of his clothing. They kiss again, languid, almost calm if it wasn’t for the electric current running under Chireadan’s skin and urging him to hold Jaskier tighter, to touch him harder.

He walks backwards toward the wooden tub, pulling Jaskier along with him. The tub is small, but they’ll fit. It’s not exactly a hardship to be crowded together. Chireadan climbs into the tub, hissing as the hot water touches cool skin; it’s been brought up here not too long ago, still gently steaming, nowhere near going cold like he said it was.

He sits down, and Jaskier wastes no time in climbing in after him and settling to sit on his thighs, very close. He wraps his arms around Chireadan, and the hot water brings a pretty blush to his cheeks. Chireadan’s hands find their way onto the bard’s thin waist, holding him and pulling him closer. They’re both hard, and like this, their cocks rub gloriously together. Jaskier makes a pleased noise and moves on Chireadan’s lap, grinding.

He’s heavier than Yennefer was, Chiredan’s mind supplies, breaking his good mood and pulling the familiar shroud of grief over him. He sighs and buries his face in the join of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder, where he smells like blood and magic and warmth.

Jaskier’s hips slow and his hand touches the back of Chireadan’s neck carefully.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Chireadan laughs, or maybe sobs.

“Not really. I’m sorry”, he whispers, sliding his own hands up Jaskier’s strong back, unable to stop thinking about how he’s not quite delicate and soft enough, about how his strength is in these lean muscles and not in the innate magical power Chireadan used to be able to feel through Yennefer’s skin.

Jaskier hums and shifts, reaching for the soaps on the side of the tub. “Let me wash your hair”, he says, and it’s more like a command than a request. Chireadan inclines his head, giving permission anyway.

Jaskier ladles water onto his head, and then there are gentle, soapy fingers massaging his head, suds forming and sliding over his skin, down his neck and back. Jaskier’s touch is soft and careful, and he seems to focus more on making this feel good than in actually cleaning anything.

“Your hair feels smooth as satin, do you know that? A downright pleasure on the fingers. I imagine it’s an elf thing? Like the lack of other body hair-”

Chireadan huffs, gently pinching the skin over Jaskier’s hip. “Are all humans as hairy as you then?”

Jaskier draws in an affronted breath, but then thinks for a second and lets it out as an apologetic chuckle. “Sorry, that was insensitive.”

Chireadan leans in to kiss him in apology too. “I get that a lot. All elves are the same. Can’t tell dwarves apart either, and gods forbid anyone even _try_ with halflings.”

Jaskier scrunches his eyes closed, embarrassed. “Sorry.” He opens them soon again and looks at Chireadan from under his thick, dark lashes, demure like some young maiden.

“Teach me to behave?” he whispers, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Chireadan laughs and pulls him into a kiss. Jaskier answers it with enthusiasm, nipping gently at Chireadan’s lower lip and groaning when Chireadan does the same a moment later. There will be no teaching, however; Chireadan isn’t the type to control or to punish, even if only to indulge his partner. He’s always been of the gentler sort, content to bring and take pleasure slowly and softly, enjoying the closeness and trust of another person.

That’s not to say Jaskier doesn’t bring out a cheeky playfulness in him too, something he hasn’t felt very often with anyone else. He’s about to reach for Jaskier’s cock and get things moving in a more heated direction, when the suds on his head start sliding over his forehead and precariously close to his eyes, and he has to disentangle himself from Jaskier a little.

“Let’s clean ourselves first”, he says, and Jaskier agrees, reaching for the soap again as Chireadan ladles water onto his hair again, washing away the lather.

Jaskier stays on his lap, and Chireadan finds himself washing the blood from his neck and chest. Despite what he said, he enjoys the hair on Jaskier’s chest, the contrast it and the bard’s pale skin create with his own smooth, slightly tanner skin. Jaskier notices him looking, and looks right back.

“You’re beautiful”, Jaskier says, surprisingly artless and simple for a poet, but he looks so earnest Chireadan feels his cheeks heat and he turns his gaze away, flustered.

“Don’t run away from me”, Jaskier whispers, lifting Chireadan’s chin with a tender touch. Chireadan’s heart breaks a little at his tone of voice, petulant and sad, though he’s trying to hide it. It weighs heavy on him, he knowledge Jaskier would like to say that to someone else, someone who does nothing but exactly that; runs away. Someone who Jaskier is always reaching after, to no avail.

For a moment, Chireadan can be better than Geralt of Rivia, he decides and meets Jaskier’s eyes again, smiling at him reassuringly.

“I have no plans to do anything as stupid as that”, he quips, and a smile brightens the bards face again.

They trade lazy kisses, tasting a little of soap. It makes Jaskier turn his nose up, terribly cute, until Chireadan kisses him again, drowning any protest.

“How do you want me?” Jaskier eventually asks as he’s rinsing the last of the soap from his hair.

Chireadan leans back to look at him: his beautiful eyes looking back at him, unashamed; his flushed skin; his pretty cock resting against his thigh, softened a little during the leisurely washing. He’s gorgeous, and Chireadan doesn’t know what to do with him.

Before Yennefer, it’d been years since he last let somebody that close. He’d been busy with his studies and then later his work as a healer, and like a typical elf more interested in the academical than the earthly, he’d thought love - and as a result, an active sex life - might come later, at some point when he met the right person.

In a cruel twist of fate, he right person had come along quicker than he’d imagined, and vanished from his grasp just as quickly. It’s no use missing Yennefer right now when he has a lapful of beautiful bard, but he can’t help it.

His time with Yennefer doesn’t give him much reference here either. They had sex a total of four times, two of which consisted of him bringing her off with his mouth while he pleasured himself with a hand, and the other two of her letting him make love to her, lying down in his narrow cot in the tent. He thinks she enjoyed it, enjoyed feeling how his devotion to her made him careful and reverent, but it doesn’t matter now. None of those times and feelings feel applicable here.

That doesn’t change the fact that Jaskier’s weight on him is a welcome sensation, and the water’s still pleasantly warm, and Chireadan feels very good like this, right here. Jaskier looks at him like he won’t judge whatever it is that Chireadan says next, just watches him patiently with a kind expression, slowly petting his skin where he’s laid a hand on Chireadan’s arm.

“Can we just… be here, like this?” he asks, laying his own hands on Jaskier’s hips under the water, thumbs massaging the delicate skin there.

Jaskier smiles and nods, leaning close again. “I’d ride you but I’m afraid I have no oil”, he says, sounding honestly sad and disappointed in himself. "A grave oversight on my part, really. One should never go anywhere eithput at least one decent-sized phial of the stuff." Chireadan feels his cheeks flush and his cock jerk at the thought of Jaskier doing that, riding him, but any alternative is good as well. He takes a fortifying breath and moves a hand from Jaskier’s hip to the inside of his thigh, slowly trailing towards his cock. Jaskier moans when he reaches it, taking it in his hand and slowly sliding his hand up and down, getting a feel of its weight and warmth.

“Oh - that’s good too, really good, _Chireadan -”_ Jaskier pants, grinding up into his hand. “Can I touch you?”

“Please”, he whispers, and then they’re kissing again, deep and frantic, and Jaskier’s deft fingers are wrapping around him. His touch is electric, it makes Chireadan’t hips jerk forward, jostling Jaskier on his lap so he almost falls off. They laugh into the kiss and then Jaskier shifts a little and wraps both his hands around both their cocks and Chireadan can’t _think._

His grip is tight and his cock is hot against Chireadan’s even in the warm water, and the friction is so good. Jaskier smells clean now, like the soap they used, and underneath it is his own scent, faint but intoxicating. Chireadan trails kisses down his cheek onto his neck, sucking and nipping there. Jaskier moans and whines and squeezes them harder in his hands and Chireadan moves his hips in time with Jaskier’s, lost in the feel and scent and sound of him.

Jaskier’s movements become faster, more frantic, and his voice grows louder as he nears the edge. Chireadan’s right there with him, oversensitive already, shaking with it. Jaskier whispers right into his ear, and the things he says make Chireadan’s head spin.

“You feel so good”, Jaskier hums, “I can’t believe I get to touch you like this. I thought you were beautiful the second I saw you, even though I was half-mad with the pain.”

Chireadan closes his eyes, immeasurably glad Jaskier’s better now, that even though Chireadan himself could do nothing but ease his pain, Yennefer was there to heal and save him.

He kisses Jaskier’s neck again, gentling a spot where he’s made a bruise, half on accident. Jaskier whines and keeps going, the rhythm of his hips and hands beginning to stutter.

“If you’ll let me - tomorrow, I’ll find some kind of oil, and I’ll ride you like you’ve never been ridden, I’ll make sure you feel amazing, because you deserve it, you beautiful creature -”

Chireadan lets out a groan and pulls Jaskier closer, burying his face in Jaskier’s neck. The bard just keeps going, aware of how his words are undoing Chireadan.

“You’re so gentle and good - I want to _ruin_ you”, he pants, and squeezes his hands a little tighter. The words make him feel weak and the touches are suddenly all too perfect and all too much, and Chireadan comes, hard and sudden and wild. His vision goes dim and his eyes squeeze closed, his hips jerking and his hands tightening where he’s holding Jaskier.

The bard wrenches him up by the hair, deliciously painful, and kisses him hard, coming soon after. He moans into the kiss, pained, shaking on Chireadan’s lap. Chireadan holds him through it, trembling through the aftershocks of his own orgasm. Eventually the rough contact eases into sweeter little kisses, panting breaths exchanged between them.

“Thank you, that was beautiful. You’re beautiful”, Jaskier says against his lips, still so strangely free with his words that Chireadan blushes and huffs, embarrassed. Jaskier laughs at him, gently devilish, and caresses his cheek.

“I expect you’ll stay the night.”

“I’d like that, yes”, Chireadan admits. Jaskier smiles and rewards him with another sweet kiss.

The water is starting to feel too cool to be comfortable, but Jaskier shows no signs of wanting to move just yet, and Chireadan is content to bask in his warmth and closeness for a few more moments. It’s a novel feeling, being this close to someone while feeling so comfortable and relaxed: Jaskier doesn’t demand anything of him, and there are no enormous feelings gathering in his chest and behind his teeth waiting to burst out. He can just be, with someone who likes him and who he likes in return, nothing more, nothing less.

Jaskier pulls back to look at him, hands on his cheeks, holding him gently.

“Feeling alright? I’d hate to have unsettled you any further. I know today has been… less than pleasant.”

Chireadan huffs out a laugh. “It’s sweet of you to worry, but I feel fine. Better than fine, now. Thank you for that.”

Jaskier knocks their foreheads together. Chireadan goes cross-eyed trying to look at him, but even this close he can tell the devilish grin is back. “You can expect some more cheering up in the near future, then.”

Chireadan leans in for a gentle kiss; he’s long since lost count how many of these little gestures of lighthearted affection they’ve exchanged, and the thought makes him relieved. His sadness and longing for Yennefer haven’t disappeared, and he suspects they won’t for a very long time, but it seems forgetting them for little moments like this is entirely possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Again, I'd love to hear what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier does a lot of running away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some pain! :)
> 
> This fic keeps getting more complicated as I write it, so I've increased the final chapter count from 6 to 9. Whoops!

"We must see each other again”, Chireadan says as they're kissing goodbye later the next day. "I've cherished this time with you.”

He certainly has; Jaskier's bottom aches in memory. Gods, he slept better curled up next to Chireadan than he has in a long time, but he still feels tired from the second and third round they had in the morning after waking up wrapped around each other.

"As I with you, sweet elf", he whispers against Chireadan’s lips. He reaches up to run fingers along the sharp tip of an ear, enjoying the answering shiver.

"I'll circle back here in a few months time”, he muses. He has plans to make a little circuit of it, first Tretogor, then Novigrad and finally his beloved Oxenfurt, before coming back to Rinde for a while and then later heading south. Not too close to Nilfgaard, just enough to reach a slightly warmer climate for a while.

"I look forward to it”, Chireadan smiles gently.

"Don't wait for me, though”, Jaskier answers, kissing him again. _Don’t fall for me in her stead,_ he means, because he isn’t any better than Yennefer, not really. He’s as solidly and undeniably Geralt’s as the witch seems to be, and no matter how much he likes Chireadan, that won’t change.

"I won’t”, Chireadan says seriously, and Jaskier has a feeling the elf hears the unsaid words and understands them, even takes comfort in them. This, between them, can stay as playful and light as it has been so far. Safe and comfortable, nothing to break themselves over, nothing to tear at their hearts like other loves do.

Jaskier knows it's Yennefer who Chireadan will be waiting for, even after everything, for a long time. He reads it in his sad eyes, feels it in his touch. They’re a pitiful pair of lovesick fools, that he can admit, but at least they’re on the same page about it.

“What will you do?” he asks instead of saying anything too painful.

“I’ve been in talks with a lady who works here as an apothecary”, Chireadan says, and his eyes take on an excited glint that makes Jaskier feel a little less worried for how the elf will manage with his heartbreak. “She has a shop with more room than she needs, and I’ve been thinking I’ll be able to set up a business in the smaller room. Working as a healer. It would be nice to operate out of a real building instead of a tent.”

“That sounds brilliant!” Jaskier enthuses, kissing Chireadan’s nose. “Do you want me to sing your praises on my way to Oxenfurt?”

“Suppose it can’t hurt”, Chireadan chuckles. “Just don’t oversell me, I don’t want to disappoint if you’ve exaggerated my skills too much.”

“When have you ever known me to exaggerate anything? I’m as honest as the most pious priest and as trustworthy as any merchant!” Jaskier says haughtily, enjoying Chireadan’s burst of incredulous laughter.

Jaskier kisses away the last of it and finally disentangles himself from the elf’s arms, bending down to pick up his bag and his lute. They say their goodbyes, gently and in good spirits, though it does hurt when Jaskier leanes Chiredan behind him in the room and closes the door.

A profound loneliness settles over him as he buys a modest store of food for the road and then and sets out on the road leading out of town. The beginnings of long journeys have always felt exciting to him, but this time he just feels dulled and lost. The streets of Rinde look unfamiliar, because most of the time he spent in this town he was half-dead and being carried around by Geralt and Roach, or lying unconscious in Yennefer’s dubiously tender care.

He already misses Chireadan’s easy company, and even more than that he misses walking alongside Geralt and Roach, singing to them, the pretend-annoyed looks Geralt would cast his way, the way it was easy to sometimes just be quiet with him. The way Jaskier knew he was doing exactly what he wanted to, going where the road would lead the two of them. Traveling companions, partners, friends even.

He misses the times when Geralt had no-one else who was as close to him as Jaskier was. The times when Jaskier though he might eventually wear Geralt down enough that the witcher might let himself be talked into a night of passion, and then maybe he’d realize he felt for Jaskier as much as Jaskier felt for him, or at least as much as a witcher could feel.

He sighs and picks up his pace, conscious of how every step is taking him further away from Geralt. He’s left without saying goodbye, and though it’s for his own good, it feels bad, like he’s broken promises. Like he’s the one wanting to distance himself from Geralt, even though it wasn’t him who went and got himself enamored with a witch.

-

In Tretogor, he makes good money but ends up falling into bed with a man who just happens to have a terrifying wife and two very big and very angry sons, and has to make an exit a whole week sooner than he’d planned. The less said about how they chase him out of the town, the better.

There’s still an aching bootprint on his lovely and unjustly abused behind when he reaches Novigrad. He has several angry past-lovers in town, so he lies low, singing in taverns but not making a show out of his own name and identity for a change. City life agrees with him, and though people here are perhaps a bit stingier than in some other parts of the world, he still makes enough of a living for a modest room, good food and some new clothes. _Finally._

He thinks about Geralt, of course he does, and he writes a frankly embarrassing number of songs just for lamenting his unfortunate feelings for the bastard. When his audience doesn’t know him, he can sing his heart out and no-one will connect his mysterious love to the Butcher of Blaviken. He can sing of golden eyes and silver hair and everyone will just think he’s got it bad for some brown-eyed blonde. He can sing of following ‘her’ to the ends of the earth and through innumerable dangers, and they’ll think it’s all a bunch of pretty metaphors and no substance.

He writes one mostly about Yennefer, her beauty and her deadliness, and tries his best to sing it with grief and not hatred. His audience seems to love it most of all his songs, and he sings it again and again, long enough that even his dreams have a soundtrack of her and the destructive power of her sweet kisses.

The Gods must truly despise of him, because one evening, just as finishing a show to thunderous applause, fingers strumming the last notes with fervor, he happens to glance towards the entrance to the tavern and sees Geralt stepping in.

“Thank you so much, everyone, you’ve been an absolute joy to perform for”, he says to the people gathered around him, smiling absently and still watching as the witcher goes to the counter for a pint of ale. “I fear I must retire for the night to save my voice.” He winks in the direction of two beautiful maidens who’ve been eying him for a while now, but doesn’t go and try to charm the both of them into his bed for the night like he usually would. Instead, he takes his hat from a nearby table - satisfied to feel it’s heavy with coin - and goes to Geralt.

“Hello.” He leans a hip against the counter, arms coming up to cover his chest in an unconscious attempt to reel in his racing heart, to hide it from Geralt’s superhuman hearing.

“Jaskier”, Geralt says, almost smiling, and Jaskier feels like stealing his ale and just running away.

Geralt seems to have let his beard grow in in the time they’ve been apart, usually smooth cheeks covered in steel-grey stubble that looks rough and like it’s just begging to be touched with gentle fingers.

It hurts to look at Geralt. Somehow, in the few weeks they’ve been away from each other, Jaskier has managed to forget how gorgeous Geralt is. It’s laughable, really; he makes a living singing of his love, and when he sees the object of said love he’s blown away by his beauty. He’s pulled his hair into a braid, and Jaskier’s finger want to pull away the tie and run through the strands until they’re messy again. He’s wearing his armour like he always is, big and imposing and scary, and Jaskier wants to climb him like a tree.

Jaskier orders himself an ale as well, just to have something else to do with his hands and mouth.

“You left”, Geralt says, not accusatory but it feels that way.

“I did indeed”, Jaskier answers and keeps his eyes on the mug.

“Why.”

Jaskier chuckles, faux-nonchalant. “I was terribly low on funds and I felt that after the whole ordeal it was best to leave Rinde and try elsewhere. Tretogor didn't treat me well, so - here I am.”

"I know. I heard about the merchant and his wife."

"You did? Where?” Jaskier cringes. No matter what his friends might say about him, he does have some semblance of a care for that people think of him. He doesn’t fancy the stories of his unluckier exploits being told all over the northern kingdoms, thank you very much. 

"I went to Tretogor. Chireadan said you were heading there. Found the tavern you were staying at and heard… most of what happened.”

Jaskier no longer cares about what they’re saying about him in Tretogor, because _Geralt_ is saying things about _Chireadan._

"You spoke with him?" he asks, a little angrily. “And he told you where I went?”

Not that he ever thought Chireadan the paragon of virtue and kindheartedness, but really, who goes blathering about these things exactly to the person who shouldn’t hear them? The traitor. They’ll have _words_ when Jaskier goes back to Rinde.

"He wouldn't say until I threatened him”, Geralt growls, annoyed, and suddenly none of Jaskier’s anger is aimed toward the elf anymore.

"Hey", Jaskier growls in turn, rounding on Geralt. "Don't you touch him! He's done nothing - “

“I didn't. Touch him”, Geralt says, quieter now. “He looked at me like he wanted to hit me, though.” He looks as baffled as his stoic witcher’s face allows.

“I imagine he has valid reasons”, Jaskier huffs. He feels protective of the elf; can’t even imagine what must’ve been going through Chireadan’s head when Geralt appeared at his door and started threatening him. If Yennefer did that to Jaskier, he’s pretty sure he’d just faint out of sheer fear.

Geralt doesn't deign that with an answer, though there's a wondering tilt to his head. "You didn't tell me you were leaving."

"You were otherwise occupied."

"Since when has that stopped you?" Geralt looks at him like he’s acting strange, and he knows he is, but he can’t really hide it now.

"Since it started meaning something to you”, he says quietly. ‘It’ being Yennefer and ‘something’ being ‘more than me’, though that Geralt doesn’t have to hear.

But Geralt followed him here, says a tiny, hopeful part of his mind. Before it gets a chance to fool the rest of him into thinking into this, Geralt smiles, just the tiniest bit. He’s thinking about her, and he looks… gentle. A little exasperated, a little wry, a lot in love.

The tiny, hopeful part of Jaskier gets smaller and smaller until it’s basically dead. It hurts, it _hurts,_ and he has to smile again so he won’t cry.

“Did you bring her with you?” he asks, cheerful and fake.

“No.”

“Sweet Melitele, thank you for small mercies”, Jaskier mutters, and Geralt huffs a laugh at his words. At least he can openly dislike the witch without Geralt taking offence.

“She stayed in Tretogor for something. I thought it best if I didn't ask. She’ll come here after she’s done”, Geralt continues, and Jaskier sighs. Of course they’re traveling together now. Of course there’s no longer room for him at Geralt’s side, even if his own feelings didn’t make it too painful to be there.

“You really don’t like her”, Geralt says. It’s not really a question, but Jaskier answers anyway.

“Yeah, can’t say I worship the ground she walks on, no.”

Geralt shrugs, like it’s fair, like it doesn’t bother him. Jaskier gulps his beer down faster. He wants to get away, but Geralt’s bulk blocks half of his way, and the rest he can’t fight his way through when he really doesn’t ever want to leave. Geralt’s so close it would be very easy to take a small step closer and press his lips to his, to show him why Jaskier doesn’t like Yennefer.

“Are you staying here?” Geralt ask after a short moment of silence. He’s looking shifty, like his next question will be if he can share the room until he finds work and can pay for his own room. It’s happened often enough for Jasker to recognize the signs. Jaskier would love nothing more than doing exactly that, but he’s sure Yennefer might not appreciate rolling into town and finding her man sharing Jaskier’s bed, even if it was only out of necessity.

“You can have my room”, Jaskier decides. “It’s paid for three more nights, but I have a feeling I need to get a move on. I’m homesick for Oxenfurt.”

“I’m not here to kick you out of your room, Jaskier”, Geralt says, confused.

“No, but Yennefer is coming and by the time she arrives, I want to have kicked myself out of my room. And out of this town.” Jaskier finishes his ale in two large gulps and sets the mug down, ready to go pack up his things. Geralt takes him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks.

_“Why?”_

He looks at Jaskier with honest golden eyes, a wrinkle of worry between his grey brows. His grip is strong but gentle, just enough to keep Jaskier where he is but never hard enough to hurt him. Jaskier takes hold of Geralt’s wrist, just as gently.

“Because I’m weak. Because I can’t stand the sight of you two together. I get so jealous I physically can’t take it. I don’t want to embarrass myself by crying in front of her. Or you.”

The words jump out on their own, foolish, out of place. Saying them feels like lifting a stone off his chest, but at the same time it's the stupidest, most ridiculous thing he's ever done. Jaskier winces and takes a step back, prying Geralt’s hand off his arm. It’s easy; his fingers have gone limp and he’s looking at Jaskier like he’s never looked at him before. Uncomfortable, shocked, scared even. These all manifest in tiny changes, minute enough that someone who doesn’t know him might not even notice. Jaskier notices. He always does.

“So”, he begins, taking another step back. Geralt still says nothing. “It’s still early enough that I can catch a ride on the last post wagon. I’ll go get my stuff and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Geralt just watches him, lips ajar, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to. His eyes look dimmed, sad maybe, or quilty. It’s not quite pity, but it cuts as deep as if it was.

“Tell the innkeeper you’re the witcher I’ve been singing about and you’re taking my room, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Geralt nods jerkily. “Jaskier, I didn’t know - “

“No”, Jaskier says firmly. “None of that now. We’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

Geralt shuts his mouth. Jaskier stands still for a moment more, looking at him. He does his best to memorize every little detail, every wrinkle and every scar. The awkward set of the witcher’s shoulders, the way his arm is still slightly extended toward Jaskier, like Geralt’s forgotten it. He’s beautiful, and dear, and completely unattainable.

“See you around, Geralt”, Jaskier whispers. Geralt nods, not saying anything. Just looks at him with such sadness that Jaskier has a hard time breathing, meeting that gaze.

Jaskier nods as well, just as awkwardly, and turns away.

He walks across the large room and climbs up the stairs to his little room, mechanically packs all of his meager possessions into his bag, and goes back down. 

He can see Geralt still at the bar. He’s turned away, sitting on one of the high stools, and Jaskier stands still for a moment more, watching the messy braid that’s fallen between his shoulders. Geralt shifts, like he feels Jaskier’s eyes on him, and Jaskier startles, turning away from him again. He slips out of the little side door the staff use, letting it close quietly behind him.

He adjusts the straps of his lute and his bag on his shoulders, and starts walking towards the post office where the last wagon will be preparing to leave soon.

He glances back every few steps, until he’s certain he’s not being followed. Once he's sure he’s alone and Geralt won't hear or see him, him he breaks into a run to avoid breaking into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, you're lovely. <3 If you want to yell at me or leave any other kind of comment, I'd be super happy to hear how you're feeling :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Above all things, a bard must have hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so sorry it's been eight months. I love you. Here's chapter 4. I feel we should all have some tentative happiness and companionship in this very, very trying time.

Oxenfurt is home, but it only holds Jaskier for a month. At first it feels good to run into familiar, friendly faces everywhere he goes, but with the way he's been feeling after leaving Geralt in Novigrad, he's not the best company. He laughs and sings but his heart is never properly in it. He flirts and laughs and entertains, but his jokes fall flat to his own ears, even if others smile and blush. He composes, he always does, but it's all a mess of listless melodies and pitifully sad half-finished ballads.

He's more upset than he wants to show, both by what he said to Geralt and by his desperate loneliness now that he's no longer by Geralt's side. Part of him thinks it a great mistake, ever saying anything, but another part of him is relieved, can finally relax, after years of hiding. The truth is out there now, and Geralt can do with it what he will.

Hopefully he's too embarrassed and uncomfortable to seek Jaskier out again. Hopefully the next time they run into each other will be a few years on, when Jaskier's had time to grow and change. Maybe by then he'll be strong enough to stand being near Geralt again, or maybe he'll even be in love with someone new, someone within reach and willing to be with him.

It's not likely, but more than anything, a bard must have hope.

-

He leaves Oxenfurt with a heavy heart and heavier feet, but they're restless in a way he can't stand. Somehow the thought of the town becomes sweet again the moment he sets foot outside it, but turning back is no option. He can't stay put in one place for too long, or his sorrows will well and truly catch up.

After a bit of mindless meandering, he goes back to Rinde, like he promised Chireadan he would. He's only been away for a few months, but when he arrives at the place where Chireadan's camp was, there's nothing there, not a single sign of inhabitance.

It feels like a rude welcome, disappearing like this and not leaving any sign of where he might've gone, until Jaskier remembers Chireadan talking about the apothecary. He must have come to an agreement about the shop, then. Jaskier refuses to think about the other possibilities, of Chireadan leaving and going somewhere Jaskier can't find him, or worse, something bad happening to the sweet elf.

Jaskier makes his way into town proper, and asks after Chireadan in a tavern. The keeper isn't familiar with the name, but one of the patrons sitting at the bar counter hears the conversation and pitches in.

"I know of an elven apothecary on the other side of town", she says. "Last I heard she'd taken on a partner to do healer's work, I think his name was Chireadan or Cherridan or... something along those lines. If that's who you're looking for, I can give you directions."

Jaskier buys her a mug of beer as a thank you, and though she's old enough to be his grandmother, he flirts with her shamelessly as she downs the beer and draws a map of the town on a napkin. He receives a motherly pat on the head for his troubles, and is soon on his way toward Chireadan's shop.

He makes his way leisurely through town, stopping in a little boutique to buy a fancy silk shirt in a gorgeous shade of turquoise, just because he can. After, he makes a little detour as he smells the lovely scent of baked goods wafting from a bakery nearby. He chooses the biggest cake he can find, and the friendly baker chats with him merrily as he packs it in a large box. The man has a kind face and he's round and happy-looking in the exact way a baker should be. He seems to think Jaskier is buying the cake win over a lady, possibly because the icing on it is all strawberries and hearts and flowers, and he earnestly wishes Jaskier luck with the endeavour. Jaskier laughs sadly as he gives the baker his coin and leaves to continue his trek.

Finally, after many twists and turns and a possible moment of getting quite turned around and properly lost, he rounds a corner and sees the shop. He makes for it across a small plaza paved with colourful tiles, marveling at Chireadan's name on the sign in the window. It's been done in a pristine white paint just below another name, presumably the apothecary. Chireadan is really making something of himself, isn't he. From the outside, the shop looks respectable and serious, businesslike. Jaskier almost feels nervous stepping in, like perhaps he ought to comb his hair and button his doublet.

A little bell on the door announces his arrival, and an elf woman behind the counter acknowledges him with a nod. She looks to be about fifty, though with elves you can never really tell. She wears her hair in a severe bun and doesn't smile even as he greets her with a little bow; she'd look scary if it weren't for the funny little round spectacles balancing almost on the tip of her nose. They give her face a welcome bit of humor.

This room is obviously the drug shop; behind the woman are tall shelves of medicines and herbs, all meticulously arranged and labeled.

"He's not expecting me, and I'm not having any sort of a medical emergency, but I’m looking for Chireadan?" He smiles awkwardly, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy meeting a friend's parents for the first time.

"A moment", she says and goes to a door on the left, poking her head in the room beyond it. She says something, and soon enough, Chireadan comes out, looking inquisitive and ready to receive a patient on short notice. The professional facade is gone the instant he spots Jaskier, and his face brightens and breaks into a smile.

"Jaskier! It’s good to see you", he says, and Jaskier has a feeling he might be in for a hug and a kiss if they were alone.

"This is Segla, my new business partner", Chireadan continues.

"He told me about it, a while back", Jaskier says to her, "you seem to be doing well."

She inclines her head. "Thank you, we are."

"How long will you be in town?" Chireadan asks, a nervous little smile on his pretty lips, "I have rooms above the shop now, so if you’re staying and don’t mind close quarters…?"

Jaskier’s sure he’s not just imagining the way his smile turns into an anticipatory little smirk.

"I’d love to stay with you", he answers with a smirk of his own. Segla huffs out an exasperated sigh, and gets to mixing some herbs.

"It’s getting late", Chireadan muses, "and I have no booked appointments left today. Segla, do you think you might close up on your own today if I carry Jaskier's things up and show him around?"

Segla snorts like she knows exactly what both of the men are thinking about. "I've been closing up on my own for years, boy, I think I can manage one more night."

She turns to Jaskier. "Glad to meet you, though I'm sure Chireadan could do with more serious company. I hear you're a travelling bard."

She says it like music is an insult to her serious and strictly scientific world view, and Jaskier chuckles.

"I promise I won’t even attempt to persuade him to do anything wicked while I’m here."

Chireadan groans, embarrassed like a boy scolded by his old mother for having his sweetheart over, and drags Jaskier upstairs.

-

It’s just a small room with a kitchenette and a bathroom, everything looks a little worse for wear and the furniture is all pieces that don't really fit together, but it's cosy. Chireadan has hung white lace curtains on the windows and piled large pillows on the wide windowsill, and the bed looks soft and inviting.

“I love it", Jaskier tells Chireadan, and also loves the shy smile he gets in answer.

"You do?" Chireadan comes close and Jaskier gladly drops his things on the table and steps into the elf’s arms.

“Miss me?” he mumbles, smiling, and then Chireadan’s lips are on his, muffling anything else he might’ve wanted to say.

“I have”, Chireadan admits, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, his soft lips brushing against Jaskier's own with every word. “I've much to tell you, and surely you’ve had the time to end up in a dozen adventures since I last saw you as well."

Jaskier laughs, sadder than he means to.

“Let’s talk about that later", he suggests. "First, take me to bed."

Chireadan laughs, and does.

-

Afterwards, when Chireadan’s still lying in bed, all fucked out and relaxed and sweet, Jaskier goes to raid his cupboards for liqueur.

"There’s wine", says Chireadan from the bed, reading his mind. “In that box over there.”

"Brilliant!" Jaskier digs out a bottle, opens it and brings it to bed.

"No glasses?"

"Heavens, no. I'm not here to pretend to be classy, I'm here to get drunk with you because love sucks."

Chireadan steals the bottle and drinks deeply, nodding. Jaskier laughs at him, and Chireadan reaches over to pat his head and sort of gently bury his fingers in Jaskier's hair.

"Did something happen?" Chireadan asks.

"I saw Geralt in Novigrad."

"Ah. He caught up to you, then."

"Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you. Sounded to me like he barged in uninvited, acted like an absolute arsehole towards you and made you tell him where I was going."

"No, he was just worried about you”, Chireadan says. There’s something bitter in the way he sighs, and Jaskier thinks maybe even simple things like worry and friendship are more than Chireadan ever got from Yennefer.

“What happened?” Chireadan asks, and Jaskier figures he may as well tell the truth.

“I told him everything.”

Chireadan looks at him, surprised. “You did? How did - what did he say?”

“Not exactly my smartest move, but yes, I poured it all over him like a chamberpot out the window. Needless to say he was… surprised, and awkward. Felt bad for me, I think.”

Chireadan reaches over a sympathetic hand and wraps his fingers around Jaskier’s. He squeezes, and the friendly touch feels better than Jaskier could’ve imagined.

“At least he didn’t end your friendship over it, right?” Chireadan asks, and Jaskier barks an unkind laugh.

“Maybe he should have. Wouldn’t that be easier for all of us?”

Chireadan squeezes his hand again and hums soothingly. Jaskier knocks his forehead into Chireadan’s shoulder for a moment.

“Did you see Yennefer at all before they left?” he asks after they’ve sat quietly for a while.

Chireadan nudges him over until he can lean to bury his face in Jaskier's neck for a moment, his arms squeezing around him, seeking comfort. That bad?

"I did, yes." Chireadan sounds hollow, and Jaskier aches for him.

"What happened?"

"She thanked me for my friendship and hospitality.”

“No.” Jaskier’s tone comes out disbelieving and furious.

“And my help with Geralt.”

“Oh, Gods…”

“And then she kissed him and climbed up in front of him on his horse, and they rode off into the sunset.”

Hearing those last words is like a punch, much like seeing it must have been, but Chiredan can’t know what it means that Yennefer gets to ride on Roach. Jaskier was only allowed to do it once, when he was all but dead.

How nice. How really fucking perfect that Yennefer is that much more important. Jaskier knows he sounds like a mean, jealous little kid, but he can’t help himself.

“He still gives me the evil eye if I give her an apple without permission and I've known him and that damned horse for years”, he mumbles into Chireadan’s hair, bitter.

“Don’t you hate it how selfish love makes other people”, Chireadan laughs sadly, and Jaskier joins in.

They make a pitiful picture, their little pile of pining, in this bed together with their bottle of wine and their eyes aching from unshed tears, but Jaskier thinks maybe that’s okay for now. For a little while, it’s okay to be pitiful and sad and hold onto someone who feels the exact same.

“Would you mind terribly if I said I’d like to stay for some time?” he asks in a small voice. “I’ve bought cake as payment, and I’m willing to compose the bitterest, meanest mockery of a song about either of them, or the both of them, if you’d like one.”

Chireadan laughs and pulls back enough to be able to drop a sweet kiss onto Jaskier’s forehead. “I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Yennefer seem pretty awful right now, and in a lot of ways they are, but this is also Jeskier and Chireadan's very subjective view on what's going on. We'll get to take a look into both Geralt and Yennefer's thoughts in the later chapters. Thank you for your patience and thank you for reading! I hope you're having a good day. ♡


End file.
